Coming of Age

A sign of a good middle school is when the office can't find the
schedule of a kid.

At Canton, the team is everything. There are two within each of the
school's two "houses." Each house has a principal and each team eight
teachers, including two special education teachers and a parent who
serves as a full-time substitute. A team is responsible for 185
students, and it remains with those same youngsters for all three
middle school years. The members of each teacher team meet daily to
determine scheduling and how to address the needs of individual
students.

"If you don't have team planning every day, then you're not a real
middle school," Spilman says in his aphoristic manner.

Team leader and social studies teacher Patrick Mogge came to Canton
from a Chicago middle school where, he says, kids dropped out on
account of many of the same problems that plague Canton
students—family crises, substance abuse, economic stress. But at
Canton, he's found that team vigilance keeps students from getting
lost.

"In Chicago, I had five different classes of kids, and you lost
track of them the minute they left your class. Here, though, we know
what's going on with each kid, and the team together decides how to
address problems, whether it be acting out in class or trouble with
reading."

When Spilman arrived at Canton in 1989 from the central office,
where he had been associate superintendent for curriculum development,
the staff he inherited had been on a long losing streak. Test scores
were among the lowest in the city, and students roamed the hallways all
day. Teachers put in their hours and fled. Spilman quickly realized
that the demoralized faculty could not be turned around.

"If you're in a prison cell for five years, you begin to develop a
prisoner's consciousness," Spilman says. "A survival mentality takes
over in which you just hope to get through the day. That's exactly what
happened here, and so a lot of teachers had to move on. If you get the
right personnel, you can pull the wagon. But a lot of principals make
the mistake of loading the wagon and then hoping that someone can pull
it."

The "wagon" Spilman wanted to pull was middle school reform.
Essentially, that meant implementing the reform agenda outlined in an
influential 1989 report by the Carnegie Council on Adolescent
Development titled Turning Points: Preparing American Youth for the
21st Century. Carnegie's reform plan was organized around eight
"essential principles" that furthered the middle school movement's
early emphasis on creating a more humane learning environment. Three of
the principles are central to Canton's own reform effort: that large
middle schools be divided into small learning groups, that they
transmit "a core of common knowledge to all students," and that they
employ teachers specifically prepared to teach young adolescents.

Recruiting the right kind of teacher has been key to making these
reforms work at Canton.

Recruiting the right kind of teacher has been key to making these
reforms work at Canton. As veteran teachers retired or transferred to
different schools—only six teachers are left from
1990—Spilman sought new hires who wanted to work together in the
small, closely knit communities that are at the heart of the middle
school model. And he has looked for those who could "teach up," that
is, those who could bring an elementary school sensibility to
middle-level education. "Middle schools brought a high school mentality
into their schools, and that was a big mistake," Spilman says. "I'd
much rather have teachers certified in elementary than in secondary
education because they're more comfortable dealing with the whole
kid."

On recruiting trips up and down the East Coast, Spilman also tries
to find young college graduates with some understanding of the urban
experience. In this, he meets with mixed success. "Nothing, absolutely
nothing, can fully prepare you for the experience of teaching at an
urban school," he says. "Just imagine the situation you find yourself
in. You're supposed to teach children so that they can meet certain
academic standards, and then you discover that your students are
lacking all kinds of skills, in addition to carrying certain kinds of
emotional baggage. The new teacher, no matter how committed and primed
she may be, somehow expects suburban kids."

Although Spilman is all too aware of the discomfort young teachers
face at an urban school like Canton, he nevertheless prefers them to
tired veterans. "It's a lot easier to develop new talent than to remake
old talent," he says. "So we've gone after people who are open to
flying to Egypt tonight and bargaining at the market in Cairo. People
like that are going to be fast learners, to take leadership upon
themselves."

Although getting the right teachers was important, Spilman thought
more had to be done. In 1994, three years after he divided the school
into houses and created teacher teams, he made a couple of bold,
controversial moves to ensure that Canton would follow the Carnegie
plan and transmit "a core of common knowledge to all students." First,
he moved the school's 100 special education students into regular
classrooms. The teachers didn't like the idea. Special education
teachers felt territorial; they did not want to give up their
self-contained classrooms. The others worried that these "different
kids" would be disruptive.

Eventually, the teachers agreed to the experiment when Spilman
secured a grant to reduce class sizes from more than 40 students to
about 30. With smaller numbers of students, the teachers believed they
could maintain control. Now, Spilman says, "You can't always tell who
the special ed students are in a classroom."

Spilman persuaded the faculty to agree to the elimination of
ability grouping and, even more startling, grade
levels.

On the heels of this change, Spilman implemented even more dramatic
reforms. He persuaded the faculty to agree to the elimination of
ability grouping and, even more startling, grade levels.
Eleven-year-olds sit in classrooms next to kids who are 13, and all
students—6th graders through 8th—get the same curriculum,
with the single exception of math. Topics are taught in three-year
cycles, so no child studies the same material twice.

To Spilman, this radical approach is the only thing that makes sense
with middle school students. "It has long been obvious to me that grade
levels are meaningless at this age—it just doesn't matter that
much if kids are 10 or 13. An 11-year-old kid may knock the socks off
an algebra test or write a hell of an essay, while a 13-year-old may be
struggling with reading.

"Besides, eliminating grade levels gets rid of the 8th grade
problem," Spilman says, flashing an impish grin. "Eighth graders can be
a load to deal with when they're all in the same class. Break them up,
and the problems dissipate. It's a case of divide and conquer."

Despite all this progressive change, Canton retains a traditionalist
streak, particularly when it comes to discipline. As its faculty never
tires of reminding you, Canton remains an urban middle school with its
share of tough, troubled kids. Maintaining classroom order is crucial,
Spilman says.

"We want teachers to over-manage in the beginning. We tell them that
you can't be pals right off or they'll chew you up. Later, once you
have their respect, the whole world opens up."

Canton teachers are encouraged to be all business, a disposition
reflected in the list of rules prominently displayed in each classroom:
"Do not interrupt while others are talking"; "No fighting, swearing, or
teasing"; "Raise your hand before responding"; and "Sit in your
assigned seat." In some classrooms, there are wall charts blanketed
with stars and checks; students get bonus points and demerits for good
and bad behavior.

"These are not polite suburban kids," one teacher says. "They need
to be told very explicitly what constitutes acceptable and unacceptable
behavior. A lot of them don't know the social norms."

Occasionally, teachers take a few minutes of class time to give
their students minilessons in deportment. In a language arts class, for
example, a teacher briefly halts a punctuation lesson to give his
distracted students a primer in what he calls "the steps to show
listening."

"First, look at me," he tells a group of students. "Now, keep your
hands free and point a knee in my direction. There, now you're
listening." Later, he breaks up a ruckus between two students with a
short lecture on the importance of good conduct, after which he has the
youngsters shake hands.

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